


Don't Rock The Boat

by creepymura



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, plastic beach, too many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14220333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: Fanfic commission from tumblr





	Don't Rock The Boat

**Author's Note:**

> shifted perspective, third person  
> 1/2

Neither of them had anticipated the cold.

The first day that they both woke up to a layer of frost over the island, and its white skies filled with flurries of snow, they thought they were dreaming. Had it already been long enough for winter to creep in on them? Or was the rotting environment and smog filled skies of the floating garbage dump so fucked that passing seasons had no impact on the weather in the slightest?

Regardless of either option, it made leaving any of the main buildings of Plastic Beach that much more difficult, and any delight that Stuart would have had in more days of lying on the beach all day, writing songs and watching the seas, had been snuffed out.

Much like any delight or pleasure that he attempted to have as of late.

Having lost his afternoons on the beach, Stuart quickly became irritable, annoyed, angry at the isolated world that surrounded him, and particularly at Murdoc for trapping him on “a frozen tip with only a heartless arsehole and a robot that looks like my dead sister for company”.

When Murdoc wouldn’t listen to his sulking, or just brushed him off with a drunken flap of the wrist, he would just hole himself away, like an angst ridden teenager who thought that the world was against him. Spending days upon days locked in his bedroom, tinkering with his keyboards, making music of his own and trying to contact anyone outside of the island with desperate pleas for help.

Not like the bassist cared all that much. There wasn’t any sort of trace of human life for hundreds of miles, and Stuart’s rambling radio transmissions would need a connection to a cell site, that he didn’t have, to even broadcast, let alone be heard.

It wasn’t a surprise that the weather barely had any impact on Murdoc. If anything, it somewhat reminded him of home, and cured any potential home-sickness he’d had from relocating to the island.

While he had liked lazing on the beach with Stuart, drinking himself to a stupor and listening to him and Cyborg sing together, he was happy enough to drink indoors. Happier still to be furthest away from the cold as he could be. Even occupied himself a little, recording a radio show of his own without any sort of meaning behind it. Just an excuse to get drunk and talk shit, though he never really needed an excuse for that kind of thing anyway.

Just like Plastic Beach to fuck Stuart over and just benefit Murdoc.

He had somewhat of a wall creatively though. He had tried to make some sort of progress on the bare blueprints of their next album, but when they were down two bands members and Stuart was still sulking and refused to do anything for him, let alone sing, it was left to stagnate.

Would have made sense to maybe ask some other people to help out with the album, call in a few favors, organize a collab or two, but the idea of making any sort of song without Stuart made his heart hurt a little more than he cared to admit.

They barely spoke at all during those months.

Murdoc has expected that.

Stuart was too angry, too hurt, too “fucking tired” to seek out any sort of conversation, let alone any kind of contact from the bassist. And Murdoc, in a way, was too defeated to even expect it from his singer anyway.

The winter brought with it a bittersweet coldness between the two broken men.

But at the very least, both of them were suffering.  

-

It had been a day without anything of any kind of interest happening.

Just a painfully average addition to the weeks and weeks of nothing.

The new found cold, combined with the to-be expected storms that were typical for the island meant there wasn’t a chance of either of the men going outside, either to lounge in the sun or to scrounge for things that washed up on the shores that may have gotten rid their boredom. There wasn’t even any snow to amuse themselves with or anything outside of what they were already terribly used to.

Just biting cold and frost.

Stuart had gotten into the habit of isolating himself in his basement room for a couple of days at a time, often just surviving on cigarettes and a packet of corn flakes. Amusing himself by working or staring out his porthole window. Just watching a world go by that didn’t even know he existed. He thought the idea of that was somewhat peaceful, in times when he needed the most peace.

The singer had anticipated that he would get tired of the island eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Nor had he expected just how bored he was going to be with nothing to do or any one to talk to.

The only real problem with his self isolation, he supposed.

Tinkering with his keyboards only amused him for so long before he started to hate even looking at the things, and he’d lost his motivation to contact anyone outside of the island weeks ago, though he still liked to pretend his pleas for help were reaching someone. Even just for the sake of getting a reaction from Murdoc.

While he had felt trapped on the island before, he didn’t want to think he was getting so close to feeling absolutely hopeless.

But with each day that passed, it seemed more and more likely.

To the point that even the idea of falling into despair felt like too much effort for him.

He missed Noodle and Russel desperately. He missed his classmates, his co-workers, his friends-to-lovers, his difficult family. He even missed his landlord a little, even if she was a miserable old bat who only took joy out of collecting rent at four in the morning on a bank holiday.

He missed his painfully average life more than he could have ever imagined.

At the very least, this all meant that he was starting to hate Murdoc a little bit less.

Even though it had been the bassist’s fault that he was even here to begin with, Stuart was getting closer and closer to not caring about any of it, as each day passed. He was at the point where he even questioned why he had been surprised that Murdoc would want to fuck up his life again.

Why did he think Murdoc was ever going to change, when he never did? Why would Murdoc have even tried to redeem himself, when he always found a reason to sabotage himself and make everyone hate him, and barely seem like he gave a fuck about it?

Stuart almost blamed himself from expecting so much from him.

Maybe it was sort of a fucked up version of Stockholm Syndrome, Stuart wasn’t all that sure.

But he was so past the point of caring about anything, that he couldn’t even be bothered to maintain any kind of grudge against the other man.

He tried not to think about any of it too much as he tucked a keyboard under his arm and climbed up the stairs from his leaky basement bedroom and up to the main buildings of Plastic Beach.

Thinking that even if they worked in silence, a little company was better than nothing.

Even if it was just the knowledge that someone else existed, that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t really, totally trapped because he was with another person, it would be enough.

Just to save him from his own racing mind.

Stuart found Murdoc working alone in his bedroom, where he thought he would be, reclining on an unmade bed and plucking at fraying strings of his bass as he smoked a cigarette. A tell tale bottle resting at the side of his bed told Stuart more about the bassist in that moment than he needed to know.

Surprisingly enough without Cyborg though. Usually the teen robot wouldn’t let the older man out of her sight, but Stuart didn’t pay much attention to her abscence.

“What do you want?” Murdoc asked gruffly, not looking up at the singer, tapping gathering ash from his cigarette into a half full glass on his bedside. Stuart didn’t know what it was full of and he didn’t think to ask.

“Lonely.” Stuart said, with a shrug, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Just wanted someone to talk to for a bit.” Setting his keyboard in his lap. “Dunno.”

Murdoc didn’t say anything, just shrugged his shoulders and went back to plucking a bassline on his guitar. Stuart’s boredom clearly wasn’t his problem.

“Got anything new you wanna show me?” The younger man continued, sitting up a little, trying a feign an interest in whatever rambling notes Murdoc might have contracted from his own loneliness. “A song or a bass line or…?”

Murdoc just shrugged again, pretending that he was tuning his guitar. Something he did whenever he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Something that Stuart was used to.

He couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt by the fact Murdoc didn’t want to talk to him. When they used to spend hours and hours talking about everything and nothing, and now they could barely exchange a sentence with each other. Stuart wondered if perhaps this was a sort of payback for the months he ignored Murdoc first, and he supposed that was fair. And it was a childish means of payback, so believable for Murdoc at least.

But he knew that this was just a coping mechanism for the older man though. A means of not having to show off his vulnerabilities, his weaker spots. He’d spent long enough building up walls around himself, walls that Stuart had spent years trying to tear down.

This was just another wall.

His train of melancholic thought was interrupted, however, when the lights in Murdoc’s room abruptly went out, and his amp switched off, his final notes falling as quiet strums on the strings.

“Oh, come on!” The bassist exclaimed loudly, the frown on his face barely visible in the low light of his drawn curtains. “Typical. Fucking typical.” Murdoc made a tutting sound with his tongue as he put his bass down and stood up. “Dickhead comes up for the first time in four months and the bleedin’ power goes out. Like I’m cursed or something.” Stuart ignored the mumbled insult, as well the little sway in his stature, blaming it on a too-recent binge of rum and bad beer.

“This happen a lot then?” Stuart asked, resting his head in his hands as he watched Murdoc pace the bedroom. As if he expected the lights to switch on if he moved enough.

“Only since the snows come.” Murdoc replied, his voice a softer, strained murmur as he went on his tiptoes to inspect the bare lightbulb on his ceiling. “Usually comes back within a few minutes but…lately it’s taken a bit longer.”

“Weird.” Stuart mumbled, idly fiddling with the switches on his keyboard. Not actually that interested in what Murdoc was doing or talking about.

“Yeah. Weird.” He said, sitting back down. “Might as well at comfy then, Stu. Since you’re planning on sticking around up here, and I ain’t got any means of entertaining you.” Crossing his arms and leaning back against his bed frame again. “Maybe we could get some actual work done, eh?”

Stuart smirked to himself as Murdoc started to mindlessly chatter away about something he didn’t care about, since he couldn’t distract himself with his bass. Conversation with him must have been a last resort then.

Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Try and get a kind of leg up from Murdoc for once.

Maybe.

It didn’t take long before the gap between the two men started to shrink, and their bodies got closer.

Maybe it was the dark, the lack of properly seeing each other, the lack of any real sort of commitment or connection when they couldn’t even meet eyes. Maybe it was the cold, and the need to conserve body heat, despite Plastic Beach maintaining a constant temperature and it actually not being cold at all. Or maybe it was the undeniable loneliness both of the men had been put through over the last few months, either by choice or otherwise.

Stuart could only hold onto a grudge for so long before even he became a little touch starved.

When Murdoc’s hand touched his, dark skin against light, Stuart could feel his heart beat painfully hard against his ribcage.

There must have been a time at some point in his past where Stuart couldn’t even fathom being away from Murdoc for so long. Not being with him, not talking to him. Not touching him.

How long had it been since they last touched each other?

Two months? Four months? As long as six months?

Maybe they could both let their guards down.

For just a moment. A second.

Just once.

Stuart didn’t take his chances to find out before he was climbing into Murdoc’s lap, straddling his hips and covering his mouth with a firm hand before he had the chance to say anything. Curse him out, comment on his forwardness, whatever.

“Don’t be coy with me now.” The singer growled, almost surprising himself with his tone of voice. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way, get it?”

Stuart’s voice was sharp, a hushed whisper despite the need to be quiet, the look in his eye even sharper as he stared down at the older man. Dark brows knit together in frustration, annoyance. Either at himself or the situation he’d been put in.

Perhaps a combination of the two. Neither of them were too sure.

Though they weren’t all that sure of anything these days.

“You’re not going to say a word, alright?” Stuart continued, his free hand gripping at Murdoc’s jumper tight, more bite to his words, more anger behind every syllable, ever annunciation. “Say anything and I’m gonna stop, and I mean that.” His voice dipped into a growl, which Murdoc liked a little more than he cared to admit. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me, Murdoc, not anymore. Understand?”

Murdoc couldn’t deny that the sentiment behind Stuart’s somewhat unreasonable request stung just a little. The idea that after all their time together, everything they’d experienced, everything they had been through, it would all come down to silent hate sex in the dark was…hurtful.

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t say no to Stuart’s offer.

Not after the months where they would seem to just flat out ignore each other, leave a room if they happened to have even a moment of eye contact, or feigned conversation. Drowning themselves with their narcotics of choice, burying themselves in their work with the excuse of progress to distract them from the real problems they had with each other.

No. He supposed it made sense that they weren’t going to be on loving terms again, or at least for a very long time.

Silent hate sex in the dark really did seem fitting for their crumbling relationship.

Murdoc just had to nod, speechless behind Stuart’s palm, agreeing to whatever they were going to call this when it was all over.  

The grip on his jumper didn’t loosen however, as Stuart brought his face close to the bassist’s silently, and replaced the hand over Murdoc’s mouth with his lips, in a fierce and borderline uncaring kiss.

Murdoc couldn’t do anything but instantly groan against it (no words didn’t mean no noises at all, it seemed), pressing his hands through Stuart’s knotted, greasy hair and grazing his pointed teeth against the singer’s already bruised lips. Sharp nails digging into his scalp, Stuart shivered as his lips parted, inviting Murdoc’s tongue past them and intensifying the kiss even more.

Finally able to vent out his frustrations, finally able to fucking touch him for the first time in what must have been months of frigidity.

They fell back against the bed together, entangled in an embrace that neither of them could understand the energy of. But when they were like this, heated and passionate, neither of them ever really understood the semantics of their relationship at all.

Best not to question it. Thinking with any sort of logic at all wasn’t good for either of them.

Stuart was the first one to pull back, breathing heavy, Murdoc’s bottom lip caught between his teeth in a harsh bite. The bassist knew he was too far gone when the fiery look in Stuart’s eyes was enough to get his dick twitching under his jeans. He didn’t know if that said more about him, or about Stuart, but again, best not to question it.

Lips quirking into a harsh smirk, Stuart teasingly ground his hips down against Murdoc’s, just so he could feel just how hard the younger man was already through his jeans (and not feel as embarrassed from getting hard so quickly himself.)

Biting his lip to prevent himself from speaking, he watched as Stuart’s hands drifted down his front and to his belt buckle, unbuckling it with deft hands and in total silence.

Still staring at him though, the same fire in his glare. Challenging Murdoc to say something, waiting for the best moment to stop all of this and just leave the bassist to stew in his own arousal. Taunt him even more, make him pay for everything that they had been through together that he refused to apologize for.

But Murdoc said nothing, as he had been told to do, barely even groaned when Stuart pulled the front of his jeans open and slipped a hand down his boxer shorts, feeling how hard his dick was. Running his thumb over the ring through his foreskin, drawing it back so he could rub the tip and smirk at how much he was already dripping.

Delibratley licking his lips as he touched it, enticing Murdoc even more.

“You wanna speak, don’t you?” Stuart taunted, though his grip on Murdoc’s dick was unrelenting. “You wanna tell me to suck you off and swallow everything. I can tell when you look at me like that.” Chuckling to himself, as if he wasn’t also straining against his jeans, desperate for some kind of attention. “That’s what I wanna do at least. Pin you down, take you until you can’t be quiet anymore. Make you moan my name.”

When Murdoc let out a small whimper, Stuart couldn’t hide the delighted grin that came to his face. He was sure it was probably visible despite the dark, but he didn’t care.

Let Murdoc see how much he was enjoying torturing him.

“Maybe you wanna force me down instead though.” Stuart continued, starting to jerk his wrist a little to stimulate the older man more, drinking in the strained grunts that he tried to hide. “Fuck my mouth, make me swallow your cum. Maybe make me choke a little.” Humming to himself lightly. “Just like old times, eh?”

Murdoc knew that Stuart was teasing him, trying to wind him up, start a sort of argument to get him talking, just for all of this to end.

But Murdoc knew Stuart well enough to know that the singer wanted this as much, if not more than Murdoc did. That was the reason he bridged the gap, came to him in the first place after all. Probably had this on the mind the moment he walked into the bedroom.

He was desperate for any kind of attention, and Murdoc knew that, knew that desperation would never go away, despite everything. Even if he had to play by the singer’s absurd rules, there was no doubt in his head that Stuart wanted this.

And because he couldn’t use his words, he did the next best thing and tangled a hand in Stuart’s hair, forcing his head down against his thigh roughly, and hooking a thumb between his parted lips to keep his mouth open. Matching the fire in the singer’s eyes.

Stuart bit down hard on Murdoc’s thumb, but the pain didn’t deter him in the slightest. Still speechless, of course, still abiding by the rules he had been given. Just looking down on him as he spluttered and groaned, a famillier dark look in his eye that still did things to Stuart, even if he would deny it.

Jutting his hips just slightly, but waiting for him to keep going.

Close the gap between them.   

Though in hindsight, maybe the whole not talking shtick had been a poor choice on Stuart’s part.

Just in terms of practicality.

But there was something undeniably alluring about Murdoc’s ability to control him without a single word passing his lips. How that look in his eye alone was and would always be enough to get Stuart’s legs shaking, without even the dirty talk or pseudo praise that went along with it most of the time.

No, it was interesting, to say the least. Just some gestures and an authoritative gaze was enough to get under his skin.

Not that Stuart would ever admit that as the truth.

But it was easier to pretend that he was seething with anger, rather than admitting his quite obvious arousal. It felt better to bite down on the fingers that kept his mouth open, then it did to admit what he really wanted. Easier to pretend that he was furious than admit his mouth was watering at what lay before his eyes.

Murdoc knew that he was full of shit, Stuart knew that much, and he also knew Stuart was as desperate for this as he ever was. But they both did a good job at hiding it, for the sake of each other.

So that’s why he wasn’t really all that bothered when Murdoc slowly pressed the head of his dick against his snarling lips. Moving his thumb away from them so he could buck his hips forward, entice him a little more, force him to continue lest he allude any sort of wordless weakness.

A hand fisted in his hair, keeping his head down, keeping his breath short.

Stuart didn’t think there was anything that could have made this experience any more arousing than that.

They were both stubborn after years of feuding and contempt, it seemed, but eventually, after enough time of them just glaring at each other in the bloated silence, Stuart coincided to just stop pretending that he didn’t want this, and just do what he oh-so-wanted to do for the last six or so months.

He was quick to take Murdoc in, since he’d had enough practice, barely even licking the head with a teasing tongue before he was swallowing half his length in a quick jerk of his head. Smirking to himself privately when he heard the choked gasp the bassist let out just from feeling the smallest amount of stimulation from him.

Choking on non-existent words even louder when he started to bob his head, properly taking him in and doing what he was best at (or so he had been told).  

Murdoc had never been one for teasing or subtlety, and Stuart was happy that he hadn’t grown a taste for it in their time apart. Immediate action was always best.

Sharp nails dug into his scalp as Stuart kept moving, gripping the front of Murdoc’s jeans as a means of anchoring himself and stabilizing the older man’s constantly bucking hips. Groaning and gagging against him when the piercing hit the back of his throat just right, just the way that he craved.

In that moment, for just a second, Stuart sort of wanted to hear what Murdoc might have said to him as he did this. What he’d have had to say as he watched Stuart deep-throat his dick again, after waiting for it for so long.

Would he just spill out his classic dirty talk? Call him a whore who was born to take his dick? Praise maybe, pet names and simpered words of encouragement? Or something entirely new because of how long they had spent apart. Maybe something even a little bit romantic or possessive.

He wasn’t too sure, but judging by how quickly the older man’s hips were bucking. how far he was forcing his dick down Stuart’s throat, and how much he was pulling on his hair, uncaring if it hurt or not, their dynamic hadn’t really changed all that much.

Like it ever would though.

Stuart loved it.

Just looking up to Murdoc twitching and shaking against the mattress, breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, his teeth grit, desperate not to speak lest this all be stopped, was enough to encourage him to push a hand down his own straining jeans.

Gripping himself, slowly working himself over as he took Murdoc with absolute delight and pleasure. More turned on than he had been in months.

Murdoc, on the other hand, was at the point of declaring this as some of the most infuriating sexually charged torture he had ever gone through. And he’d gone through a lot.

It took every ounce of his self control to not let something spill out when his own mind was screaming at him to. A whimper of his singer’s name, a whispered curse, a moaned deceleration of love or a growl to the depths of Hell itself.

Not allowed to even do one. True cruelty.

All he could do was grip Stuart’s hair harshly, buck his hips harder, push himself deeper. Distract himself from talking with the delicious sounds of Stuart choking and moaning on his dick, and the sight of him getting off on it too from the way he furiously jerked himself off underneath him.

He was always a bit sick like that.

Murdoc fucking loved it.

He loved being able to treat Stuart like a little slut, vent out all of his worst frustrations, his sickest fantasies, and for the singer to love every second of it and to beg for more on his hands and knees.

Neither of them changed. Not really, not ever. They’re creatures of habit and have been doing this together for too long for it to ever really change anyway.

It felt good to cum all over Stuart’s pretty little face again. Barely get any down his throat, almost painting his skin, and for the singer to have his tongue out, eager and waiting to take everything Murdoc had to give him.

Felt even better when Murdoc almost immediately had him on his hands and knees, taking a dick up the arse like he was born to do it, just the same as he always did. Didn’t even need to be prepped first, must have been doing it himself during all the months he’d isolated himself.

Knowing that got Murdoc off even more.

He still didn’t say anything though, doesn’t want to give up that easily, almost seeing it as a challenge. He grunts, he groans, their sweaty bodies moving together almost make a soundtrack of their own, words aren’t even needed to speak what they want said.

Stuart bites a pillow to stop himself from screaming Murdoc’s name, squeezing his eyes shut, focusing only on the wonderful feeling of being filled so perfectly.

Murdoc didn’t even have to touch him before he came with a high-pitched whine all over his duvet. He almost wished he had more energy for another round when Murdoc cums inside him, because the twinge it gave to the pit of his stomach was almost painful, and needed to be fixed with another solid fucking.

But it all ended so quickly.

And then they were just sat in the dark again.

Feeling almost more alone than they had before. Just dirtier and sweatier. More worn out.

There’s an instant, a moment that lasts a little too long for either of them to feel comfortable with, a second of silence and staring as they caught their breath and grounded themselves in reality again.

Where Stuart actually considered letting go of his grudge. Where Murdoc actually considered apologizing and meaning it, for the first time in his life.

Where they both considered letting go of their messy history, all the hurt they had put each other through, for the sake of comfort and a few minutes of silent, thoughtless embrace. For the sake of their relationship, for the sake of each other, for the sake of how much they were both hurting and how they would never admit it to each other.

Stuart felt the words weigh heavy on his tongue, swirling around his brain, making his head throb. Had he been any weaker (or stronger), any better, he might have said them.

Murdoc looked at him, almost as if he was waiting for those words. But he’s not mocking, or teasing, or being cruel in anyway, in fact. Waiting for a reason to be better. Which was something Stuart hadn’t anticipated.

He almost looked as if he needed those words as much as Stuart did. He needed a reason to be vulnerable, to be delicate, even if it was just temporary. He needed a reason to break and he needed someone there who would fix him.

Stuart would be lying if he said he didn’t want that. Just a moment of tenderness from the bassist, time for both of their wounds to heal. And Lord only knew they had so many wounds.

“Don’t.” Murdc finally said, breaking the heavy silence. His voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Don’t tell me to go. Please.”

He hid his face in his hands for a minute or so, letting out shaking breaths that almost sounded like sobs. Almost.

“I love you.” He said when he finally looked back at his singer. His saviour. His and only his. “I know you don’t love me. I don’t care.” Lip quivering again, tears beading, pretending like he cared probably. “Just don’t tell me to go.”

Stuart didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t say anything.

He just looked down at the ground, gripping the bed sheets in his fists. Hurt, broken, as if his entire sense of self was shattering around him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair that Murdoc could do a world of shit to him and still demand sympathy, caring, even a shred of human decency when he never did anything to deserve it.   

It felt worse when Stuart knew that he would give Murdoc all of that and more in a heartbeat.

Even now, after everything Murdoc had done to him, after how much he had suffered because of him, he would have done anything for the man.

The only thing that stopped Stuart from allowing it to happen was the siren that started to sound, just as words were about to fall from his lips.  

The siren was a deafening surprise to both of the men, and combined with the flashing alarm-red light above Murdoc’s doorway, it was an absolute sensory nightmare. 

“What is that?” Stuart shouted, loud enough to be heard of the sirens. Red projecting off of the panicked white in his eyes, he reflected the uncontrollable frantic energy that the alarm set off in him perfectly. “Murdoc, what the fuck is that?!” Even attempting to muffle the sounds were fruitless, and only made him panic more. “God, why’s it so fucking loud?!”

“It’s an evacuation alarm.” Murdoc finally said, interrupting Stuart’s hysterics and shaking off any vulnerability he might have demonstrated in his breakdown before. “Cyborg must have seen something while she was on look out and triggered it.”

“Something?” Stuart asked, quickly kneeling up on the bed and watching as Murdoc sat up and tugged his jumper back on and refastened his jeans. “S-Something like what, Murdoc? Like something bad or-?”

“It’s not gonna be something good now, is it, Dents?” Murdoc bit back with a characteristic scowl, quickly putting Stuart back in his place, before the nickname even did.

The look in Murdoc’s eye alone was enough to convince the singer that he was incredibly serious, and that he should quickly redress himself as Murdoc paced across the room in deep thought, as if he couldn’t hear the sirens. Almost muttering to himself, so lost in his own head that Stuart wasn’t even sure if he knew where he was at all.

“Knew I wasn’t gonna be safe for much longer. Shouldn’t have stayed in one place for so long. Idiot. Fucking stupid.”

“What are we supposed to do then?” Stuart asked once his jeans were back on, breaking Murdoc’s train of pointless thought and meeting his eye with a harsh glare. “Just wait to be killed, like Noodle did? Cus it’s those people again, isn’t it? Couldn’t get you the first time so they’re back to finish the job.”

Stuart found himself flinching before a fist even came his way.

After all, he’d been hit for far less than that before, so that’s what he had been expecting.

He didn’t expect the look Murdoc gave him. One of an unreadable hurt, despair and heartbreak that Stuart couldn’t even begin to fathom. His fist didn’t even clench. 

He found himself biting his tongue before he tried to apologize for something he knew he meant.

“You can come with me.” Murdoc started, the hurt in his look slowly subsiding as his eyes narrowed. His hands finally curling into fists, though he didn’t move from his spot in the door frame, even slightly. “Or you can stay. I don’t care which you do.” His jaw clenched as he spoke. “But you’re going to die if you stay here. I know that much.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m going to die if I go with you?” Stuart murmured softly, barely glancing up at where his bassist stood. Gripping at the tears in his jeans, desperate for any sort of grounding when he felt so far away from everything.

“I don’t know.” Murdoc admitted, words coming out almost like a sigh as he turned away from Stuart, looking out into the hallway.

“Be on the surface in five minutes. If you’re not, I’m leaving without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you like the shit i do, consider commissioning me or donating to my ko-fi to get a drabble of ur own or support me straight up!
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


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